


University, my dear Watson

by SherlickMe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU College, Fluff, M/M, Murder Mystery, Slash, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlickMe/pseuds/SherlickMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rebirth of young Holmes (Sherlock Holmes), Johnson Watts (John Watson) and Jim West (James Moriarty) in todays world coincidentally take a college class together, where they review the complete Sherlock Holmes stories and find history always does repeat itself, but with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study In Studying

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story and I'm just writing it as I go along. Grammar is never my thing so hopefully Microsoft word had my back.  
> By the way I am horrible at introductions but if you like it bare with me!

2000 May 3rd London

How did it come to this?  
Sherlock found that whenever someone made the right choice no one ever noticed, and maybe now that everything had gone wrong people could finally see how much it had all been right. 

__________________________________________________________

 

1998 May 3rd University

9:00 AM  
Holmes was sitting on time in the classroom. On the upper far side of the chairs, preferring to observe on his first day of lecture. 

9:05 AM  
Jim West never bothered showing up to class anyway.

10:30 AM  
The alarm had been blaring for half an hour.  
“SHIT”  
Johnson Watts grabbed his pants dangling on the chair beside his bed, shot his legs out of the covers and rushed out the door with an unbuckled belt, feeling a bit queasy. “Late again, shit, shit, shit!” Holmes let me snooze in, that bastard! How did he get to my sleeping pills?

 

The classroom of English literature was made up of people who didn’t really care and didn’t really want to be there. The teacher, Arty Doyill, having worked in a university for twenty good years was aware of this and came right out and said he didn’t want to either.  
“I really like my big house and my big car, and I also like my wife, who very much enjoys big cars and big houses, so I’ll continue on with my job. Now it’s up to you to get what you get, I won’t force anything because I still get paid and maybe if you get a lot you’ll end up being the one with a big car and big house. But it’s no mystery the herd of you won’t be going anywhere like this so we’ll start off with something you all should know and won’t find completely mind numbing, the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I hope you all have your own mandatory editions. They should be read as it was in the requirements and it’ll be what we are discussing today. Who will we focus on? The sleuth himself? Sherlock Holmes? Or his conductor of light? John Watson! Or maybe the intellectual nemesis great enough to show what Sherlock could have become if he were to switch his talents to the webs of crime? James Moriarty. Characters in a book are nothing on their own. They weave together to create each other. Without John there is no Sherlock, without Moriarty there is no Sherlock. So whom shall we begin with?”  
__________________________________________________________

“You have less frontal development than I should have expected” he said at last. “It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one’s dressing gown.”  
__________________________________________________________

1997 January 15th University

“Is that a gun on your belt, are you packing heat just for me?” Jim West eyed his friend (if you would call it that) in an almost possessive way. Sitting next to him, he traced the tip of his fingertips along Seb’s neck, who shrunk away.  
“Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you there was a sign up sheet in town today” he paused for a second before stating bluntly, “I’ve signed up for the military”  
Jim’s hand fell back to his own side. “WHAT, Seb you MORON” his melodic tone of voice never hesitated to take a turn for the worst. “Where is this coming from!”  
Sebastian remained calm, his expression rarely changed. “I’ll be leaving soon”  
“Why are you going military”  
“No money for college”  
“I told you once, when I’m out of college I’ll hire you”  
“What am I supposed to do until then?”  
Sebastian was the only one Jim could tolerate. He was the kind of guy you would look at once and think you'd find his body being thrown dead in a ditch somewhere. Talk to him once and you realize it's the other way around. His lack of emotion and obeying attitude fit well, but not when Jim wasn’t the one being obeyed. “You can’t go,” he hissed in a more commanding way rather than a plea.  
“Nothing changes, I’m already signed”  
Jim stood up and paced, “yes of course” he looked down at Seb who was still sitting on his bed. “When you’re done, I will be the one to find you”  
Sebastian got up to shake hands, “I’ve been through rough situations before, I’ll see you soon enough”  
Jim was brief and said nothing else, as most of his conversations were. He watched his friend head in the direction of his car, and continued to watch the road he drove on, even when there was no car left to see. He cursed to himself, in the prospect of war Jim knew it was improbable Sebastian would return, but didn’t care whoever killed him because they’d get what they had coming too. 

______________________________________________________

1998 May 3rd University

“Is Moriarty gay?”  
“What?” the professor asked.  
Another student elaborated, “Yeah, didn’t Doyle originally intend for Moriarty to hire Sebastian Moran for personal pleasure, until he found out he was a good marksmen”  
“Never officially confirmed” another student chimed in.  
“Hah, yeah but Sherlock and John are!”  
The professor sighed, is that what kids were into these days? but at least the students were beginning to take an interest, “Alright then, lets focus on the relationship between Holmes and Watson. How did they first meet?”  
__________________________________________________________

He first asked, “How are you?” as they shook hands, “You have been in Afghanistan I perceive” 

______________________________________________________

 

1997 January 15th University 

Johnson Watts entered his dorm room lugging a box bigger than he could manage with the cast around his leg. It made it quite difficult to walk, like having a tree trunk wrapped around you.  
“Football?” a voice asked, then said in a confirming tone, almost dreading “football”  
“What”  
“Your leg. ACL tear, common injury in football. Your shirt dangling half out of your box, Watts jersey number 9”  
Johnson had hardly noticed his soon to be roommate look up from his textbooks. “Yeah, quarterback and things, but not anymore. Almost better though”  
He set his box of things down on the bare mattress, almost shrieking at the sight of the other half of the room. Shirts, books, pants, socks and miscellaneous items were scattered everywhere. (stress the word everywhere) And was that a…a canine skull in the windowsill?  
“It’s my dog, I like to have him close”  
“I hadn’t asked”  
“You were thinking it”  
Johnson couldn’t argue and he held out his hand, “Hi, I’m Johnson Watts, John for short”  
His roommate had a mop of dark, curled hair and when he turned to look at John he revealed lovely eyes and pleasantly delicate features. “Call me Holmes” John’s hand remained unshaken and Holmes turned back to look the words in his textbooks.  
"Holmes? Like sherlock Holmes?"  
His roommate didn't answer, as if he hadn't heard that one before.  
“Well, at least your dog isn’t much of a howler” John said.  
“You’d be surprised at the noise a dead thing can make”

______________________________________________________

 

1998 May 3rd University

“There is tension” one of the students cooed.  
“I think they’re just platonic”  
“Debatable”  
“Can’t be denied”  
“Yeah”  
Holmes was glancing around for John, it had been halfway through the class and his friend still hadn’t shown up.  
The professor folded his arms, and quirked a brow. “WELL! Glad you decided to join us, Mr.???”  
Holmes whipped his head around. Piss off, not him again.  
The dark haired boy who entered was finely dressed, and had large brown eyes that accentuated a certain soft feature of his face. Very misleading.  
“Jim West” he said apologetically, and took the seat besides Holmes that, oddly, wasn’t occupied by John. Sherlock looked straight ahead, ignoring the sarcastic wink from beside him.  
“Jim, where have you been?” the professor inquired.  
Sincerely he replied, “I am very sorry, had a bit of a pill this morning, you know. Stomach bug”  
The professor nodded, nursing a bit of a bowel problem as well. (stay away from school meat)  
Holmes gritted his teeth, having understood the hidden undertones in Jim’s excuse.  
“Where were we?” the professor continued.  
“John and Sherlock” came unisons of eager replies.  
“Right, one of the first cases. A Study In Scarlet”  
________________________________________________________________________

This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose and prognathous jaw, gave the dead man a singularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. 

______________________________________________________

1998 March 6th University 

John burst into the dorm, “Sherlock!” his breathing was erratic and his face beet red.  
“yes?”  
“There was a BODY” John exclaimed, throwing his arms everywhere. “IT WAS HORRIBLE, I CALLED THE COPS AND RIGHT BEFORE I ENTERED THE ROOM I THINK SOMEONE WAS IN THERE”  
Homes looked up and asked, “that was you?”  
“What”  
“It was me”

A few moments earlier…

Sherlock looked both ways down the hallway before entering the dorm. It was locked, as usual. But locked doors had nothing against a paperclip. He wiggled the thin metal into the keyhole until there was a familiar click. Taking less than a few seconds he slipped quietly into the room. Inside, the smell of death was rancid. But not as bad as the sight. Sitting oddly twisted on the bed was the body of an old ‘buddy’ of Sherlock’s. Not like they ever talked though, if you understand the circumstances. Sherlock crept closer through the dim light. The person’s jaw was gaping open, hung slack to a side. Bubbling saliva and tints of hot, thick blood still seeped out of the corner of his lips. Eyes open but looking at nothing would have been disturbing to some but Holmes was here completely for observation. He needed evidence before the police, he sighed, arrived to ruin everything. Holmes took out his cotton swab and swiped at the corners of the student’s mouth. Examined fingernails, peered into the throat, felt the skin. The person’s right hand was tightly closed over something. Sherlock carefully started to pry open the fingertips, until there was a heavy thump thump by the door. He paused for a second and when the door handle began to turn, Sherlock looked desperately at the window. Second floor? Manageable. 

“What are you talking about?” John asked, cocking his head to the side.  
“Overdose on the campus, pretty gruesome. Mysterious substance?” Sherlock replied.  
Realization dawned upon Watts, “I thought I was walking in on a murderer. What on gods earth were you doing in there!”  
From his coat Sherlock drew his swab safely encapsulated in a test tube. “I was taking samples”  
“Why? How did you know about it? He was known for being a bit of a druggie. It can’t, wait…” John narrowed his eyes and hissed, “you didn’t”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “please, John. I ended that a long time ago, all I kept were the connections. When I heard about the body I swung over to get my own information”  
“Who told you? Why didn’t they report it? Did you see the sight of that? The cops say it’s an overdose, but it’s like none I’ve ever seen”  
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, “police, what do they know? There were signs of asphyxiation, seizures. If it was an overdose, I’ll know soon enough. I took a swab of his salvia. I’m going to the lab later today for the chemical compounds, but there was one piece of information I didn’t have the time to get, something in his hands, I bet those incompetent enforcers got their grubby little mitts on it”  
“Not the cops, hold on” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a white slip of paper, “he was clutching this pretty hard” he handed the slip to Sherlock. “I swiped it before I called the police, the person in there was trying to get it, er, well you”  
Between gloved fingers, Sherlock opened the curled piece of paper, which simply had a scarlet drop in the center.


	2. Smokescreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting up for things to come

1998 March 7th  
________________

John thought death was a weird thing, but life doubly so. I mean, where does it all go? What’s the point? If any it didn’t seem very significant. When he saw the body he didn’t scream or shake, just acknowledged the fact that it was the end of a life. He wondered what the persons last thought was, would they be missed? For how long? And how utterly, pointlessly depressing it all was. How many people died a day? More importantly, how much of that could be stopped? Now that Sherlock had left, he was alone in the dorm. It was very quiet, too quiet. He needed something to distract him. Tea sounded nice, maybe a nice English breakfast. Ah, yes that did sound good. John patted his hands together and brushed the dirt from his jeans. 

________________________________________________

“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person” 

________________________________________________ 

“I thought I might find you here” a ferret like little voice sniped.  
Sherlock groaned, the college lab was a bit obvious.  
“I’ll have to take that”  
“Lestrade, I don’t care for your suppository opinion”  
“Is that the Sherlock Holmes way of saying I should shove my opinion up my ass?”  
“So you have a vocabulary”  
Greg Lestrade had been a police officer for a week, originally starting as someone with potential but melting into the slum of donut dunking idiots.  
“I’ve known you for a while Sherlock, since 9th grade. But I can tell you were at the crime scene and I want to keep this between us so I don’t have to take it up to a higher authority”  
Sherlock held defensively to his cotton swab, “then don’t. Let me run my tests, I can find out more than anyone else”  
“We have a girl just as good as you”  
Holmes smirked, “doubt it. Besides you have the whole body, I have a simple sample”  
“yes but you aren’t an officer. You can’t know anything about the case until it’s solved, confidentiality and all.”  
“I’ll tell you what, Gorg”  
Greg sighed.  
Sherlock suggested, “You want to move up on the police rankings right? Let me run my tests and I’ll pass the information onto you, you can take as much credit as long as it’s kept secret.”  
“Deal”

________________________________________________ 

John could be regarded as a dog in the sense of sniffing out homey restaurants, especially ones with great tea. He was sitting peacefully in the corner of a little café with large windows, letting in enough sunlight even the pickiest cat couldn’t complain. John closed his eyes, listening serenely to the voices bubbling about around him.  
“Did you hear what happened back at base?”  
“Mortar”  
“Three men killed”  
John jerked his head in the direction of the conversation where he found the source. Two men were by the counter dressed in army camouflage.  
“I know one of them was rescued but died the next morning. Apparently not enough medical staff”  
“Shame”  
The two were clearly military; one of them wasn’t very far from John’s own age. He was tall, pale, with very blond hair that was buzzed on the sides but stood up in every which way on the top. The second soldier was older, his head completely devoid of all hair, in other words, bald. For a moment John felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that here were two people, one just as old as him who were willing to risk their lives for others, people they hadn’t even met. The idea that crept through John’s bones seeped through his muscles, urging him to move, and his mind, urging him to speak which made his heart beat faster. He hadn’t noticed he had been staring at the pair for longer than what was considered normal, whatever normal was anyway, but didn’t know how to approach them. However when they caught notice, he didn’t need to. They both glanced at each other.  
The blond man made the first move, “Hello, I’m Sebastian” he greeted in a very orderly way that was almost acidic.  
The bald one put his hand out and John shook it, “are you interested in the army?”

________________________________________________ 

Sherlock waited for John by the side of the left science building, hoping his text had been received. He leaned against the bricks, taking a calming drag from his cigarette. The smoke filled his lungs and pumped through his blood, settling into every fold of his brain. He shut his eyes to think.  
Hydrocyanic acid  
Dosage- deadly  
Asphyxiation- cytochromoxidase- mortality  
Detection  
Drug???..overdose- unlikely  
Suicide XXX  
Murder?  
Seizures  
Formonitrile  
Colorless, food, water, skin.  
WATER  
Exposure, drink.  
Where???  
Inconclusive  
“Sherlock!”  
Johns voice was close and Holmes quickly smashed the cigarette under his foot, he opened his eyes to see his friend approaching him from afar. He groaned, why did John always sport the tight jeans. Sherlock was masterful at masking his emotions behind a cool, cold exterior of logic but John brought out something deeper, something harder to handle with fact. He took a long breath as John drew closer and wished he hadn’t thrown his cigarette down so soon. Watts was in his usual green jacket, and a black t shirt that was just tight enough to taunt a mind, much like his jeans.  
“Sherlock!” John called again. Holmes wrapped his familiar black coat tighter around himself, despite the flashes of heat that ran through his legs.  
“What did you need to say?”  
“I was at the lab”  
John nodded his head and Sherlock eyed him curiously, something was different, there was a certain reserved aspect of John. Usually he sprung upon any chance for conversation.  
“So where were you” Sherlock wondered.  
“Oh you know, studying “ he was eager to change the subject, “so what did you do at the lab?”  
“Hyrocyanic acid compounds”  
“Hyrdo what? That’s ama-“  
Sherlock watched John’s lips intensively as he blabbered on, god how he wanted to feel them. To feel his body and something warm. It was downright unfair. John smelled like tea and paper and sweat, it was very like him. Sherlock imagined the mold of their lips if they ever kissed and if John would taste the same as he smelled, although not when he was eating that hideous pub sandwich he would always go on about. Sherlock had run the scenario thousands of times through his head and as John rambled on he probably thought Holmes was some almighty genius but in truth Sherlock spent half his time imagining sex. Ever since he heard the first ‘fantastic!’ slip from John’s mouth and words of encouragement, Sherlock felt intense desire to be with John and felt the beginning, of a friendship. He didn’t want to screw it up, John was his friend, very much his only friend.  
“and I wan- Sherlock? SHERLOCK have you been listening to me at all?”  
“Who doesn’t listen to praise?”  
“No Sherlock, I just asked if you had been SMOKING. I smell it on your coat.”  
“Hardly a large matter”  
“Fine, hardly my matter. Ruin your lungs if you want to, I don’t care”  
“Judging by the rising inflection and tensing in your deltoids I’d say you do”  
John gave Holmes the ‘shut the fuck up’ look.  
Sherlock did shut the fuck up.

 ________________________________________________

Jim was sitting in a dimly lit bar. It was amazing how easy it was to get into these places, and it was even easier to get drunk, what with all the depressingly idiotic idiots who inhabited it. Businessmen came in ordering fancy drinks to impress other businessmen who thought they ought to be impressed by fancy drinks and therefore ordered more fancy drinks to impress the other businessmen who thought the exact same thing. But Jim had business of his own to conduct, none of which required being impressive, he had already left an impressionable reputation. But bought a fancy drink anyway.  
“Excuse me?” a hand gripped Jim’s shoulder, “are you Mr. West?”  
Jim didn’t turn around. “Take your hand off me” The hand was removed and Jim spun around on his chair, “of course it’s me!” he took another sip of his drink.  
“You needed my services?” The person who approached him had the fierce independence some would label a bitch, ruthlessness of a quick mind and the class of a woman. The woman.  
“I need you to watch Sherlock Holmes”


End file.
